“Reporting party didn’t leave their name. Stand by.”
My Explorer isn’t equipped with a spotlight, so I reach into the seat pocket for my Maglite and set it on the passenger seat. When I look up, I catch a glimpse of something on the road ahead. A faint glint against the night sky. A vehicle with no headlights, or possibly a buggy two hundred yards away. I hit my brights and the emergency overhead lights and accelerate.
I speak into my mike. “I got it,” I say, letting Jodie know I’ve found the location of the accident.
“Roger that. County’s ten-seventy-nine.”
I’m watching for movement, keeping an eye on the ditches on both sides of the road, doing about forty miles per hour, when a hole the size of my thumb blows through my windshield. At first I think I’ve struck a bird or an owl. But a second hole tears through the glass. A chunk of the dash hits the bridge of my nose, cutting me. Pain in my face. A thousand silver capillaries spread across the glass in every direction. Then the telltale thwack! thwack! of gunshots. The passenger window shatters. Glass pelts me. In my hair. Down the front of my uniform shirt.
I yank the wheel right. Stand on the brake. My headlights play over tall grass. The Explorer bumps over the shoulder. I glimpse a tumbling fence. The tree comes out of nowhere. I cut the wheel hard but not fast enough to avoid it. The impact throws me against my shoulder belt. The airbag explodes, hitting me in the chest like a giant fist.
For a moment I’m too dazed to move. My brain is cross firing. An engine working on one cylinder. I blink, try to get my bearings. The hood is buckled. There are two bullet holes in the glass. I raise my hand, but it’s shaking so violently I can barely get to my shoulder mike. “Shots fired.” I’d intended to shout the warning, but my voice is little more than groan. “Ten-thirty-three. Ten-thirty-three.”
The radio snaps and crackles with renewed vigor. I unfasten my seat belt. Free myself of the deflated airbag. I see blood on the white fabric. I’m aware of pain in my face. I don’t know if I’ve been shot.
Using my left hand, I try to open the door, but it’s jammed. I press the window button, but it doesn’t work. I crawl over the console. The passenger door won’t open, so I slither through the window. Broken glass slices my left palm. I’m midway through, when it dawns on me that I have no idea where the shooter is. That I’m vulnerable here and not sure I have cover.
Then I’m through the window. I hit the ground hands-first. My elbows collapse. My shoulder plows into the ground. I roll and then I’m sprawled in grass that’s wet with dew. “Shit.”
Sirens wail in the distance. Crickets all around. The hiss of steam coming from beneath the hood. I get to my knees, draw my revolver. Then I’m crouched in the ditch. The road’s shoulder provides scant cover, so I stay low. The three-quarter moon provides just enough light for me to see that whatever vehicle or buggy I’d seen earlier is gone.
Headlights wash over me. Blue and red emergency lights glint off the canopy of the tree I hit. I glance right to see a Holmes County Sheriff’s cruiser glide to a stop.
“Sheriff’s department! Identify yourself! Sheriff’s department!”
“Painters Mill PD!” I shout. “I got shots fired!”
A Holmes County deputy, crouched low and holding a Maglite, his weapon drawn, approaches me. “Where’s he at?”
“I don’t know.”
He approaches me, his eyes sweeping left and right. “Burkholder?”
“Yup.”
He tries the passenger door, hoping to use it for partial cover, but it won’t open, so he kneels next to me. “You okay?”
“Hell if I know.”
I start to get to my feet, but he sets a hand on my shoulder. “Whoa. You’re bleeding, Chief. There’s an ambulance on the way.” He gives my shoulder an awkward little pat. “You need to get yourself checked out,” he says, and then he speaks into his radio. “Ten-seven-eight.” Need assistance.
A second cruiser arrives. I discern the Painters Mill PD insignia just as T.J. throws open his door and, using it for cover, draws his weapon. “Chief! Where’s the shooter?”
“Unknown!” the deputy next to me calls out and speaks into his radio. “Suspect at large. We need a perimeter. Delisle Road. County Road Fourteen. Township Road Two. And Gaylord.”
Another Holmes County cruiser arrives, engine groaning as it flies past T.J.’s cruiser. The ambulance parks several yards behind T.J.’s cruiser. All the while, the radio burns up the airwaves as law enforcement from miles around converge on an unknown shooter.
“What happened?” the deputy asks.
Quickly, I relay everything I know. “The caller said my brother was in a buggy accident.” I hit my lapel mike. “Any sign of a buggy?” I say. “Casualties?”
“Negative.”
The deputy and I exchange looks.